


A Welcome Distraction

by shell_and_bone



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Arguing, Fluff and Angst, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8526382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shell_and_bone/pseuds/shell_and_bone
Summary: A snippet of Hawke and Anders' life together in the three years between Arcs 2 and 3. Hawke wants to make the most of their newfound prosperity, treating Anders to the easy, comfortable lifestyle that both of them were denied all their lives. Justice disagrees.





	

Anders put down the pen when his hand started cramping. With weary reluctance, he replaced the lid of the ink bottle, careful not to disturb the stack of pages that had formed a thick pile on the side table. He didn’t know how many there were, or how much he’d written tonight—half of it would end up as kindling. The words would spill out of him, line after line of half-formed thoughts, hastily sketched arguments, and disjointed rhetoric that flowed from his mind too fast for his pen to keep up. Later, when he’d cleared his head, when he felt like himself again, he’d begin the work of sifting through the deluge of scrambled notes until it approached respectable polemic. Justice was never much for subtlety. 

It would have to be enough for now. Anders let his muscles relax after an evening spent coiled up in an armchair in Hawke’s sitting room. He stretched his legs towards the hearth, happily curling his toes in the warmth of crackling embers. That fire was roaring last he remembered. One disturbing effect of his writing was the tendency to lose time, whole hours occasionally, and the periods of dissociation were becoming more frequent. A distressing trend, to be sure, but his worries were soothed with another, more pleasant thought: Hawke would be home soon. 

Hands trembling, he wiped his sweaty palms over his lap, over the smooth silk tunic Hawke had gifted him when Anders first moved into his estate.The clothes had hung off his frame then, the neckline drooping over his slender shoulders, the pants barely clinging to his hips. After five months of three square meals a day, a warm bed to sleep in, and more reasonable clinic hours—all at Hawke’s insistence—he now filled out the garment quite well. The same was true for the rest of the clothes Hawke had bought for him. Piece by piece, in spite of his own objections, Anders was now the proud owner of a varied and decorative wardrobe. 

He picked up the cup of tea Orana had brewed for him hours before, lukewarm by now. He appreciated her efforts, although he suspected her courtesies stemmed more from fear than genuine concern. That, or Hawke had left her with strict instructions to see to Anders’ well-being in his absence. 

It wasn’t as though he didn’t appreciate Hawke’s gifts. Far from it. Years ago, Anders wouldn’t have hesitated to take full advantage of affections from a generous lover, especially if that lover was a fellow mage, notionally (if not practically) sympathetic to his cause. The trouble was that Justice did not easily abide such vanity, or any display of self-indulgence on Anders’ part. _You’re wasting time_ , a part of him would say. _You’re needed elsewhere_ , a constant reminder. _Why should you attire yourself in silks and drink fine wines while mages suffer in the Gallows?_ A voice repeated from the back of his mind, both reproach and imperative. _You need an ally, not a distraction._

Hawke was his ally, Anders assured himself over and over again. He was a mage, too. He understood what it was like to be hated for how you were born. Even if he had never belonged to a Circle. Even if he was celebrated as Kirkwall’s Champion, the statue they’d erected at the dockyards depicted him holding a sword, not a staff. Surely, even the ever fortunate Hawke could see the injustice in that. At least, that was what Anders told himself while Hawke spent another evening playing cards with Varric and Isabela rather than helping him in his efforts towards mage liberation. 

The teacup shattered in his grasp, shards of porcelain spilling into his lap and onto the carpet. 

Anders drew back, the sudden emptiness of Justice’s retreat more startling than the noise or the thin shard of porcelain cutting into his palm. He cursed under his breath as he dislodged the stray shard, then began frantically gathering up the rest. Soon he was on his hands and knees, grooming the carpet for broken pieces, afraid that at any moment, Orana or Bodahn might walk in and see what had happened. Fanatical, eccentric, unstable. That was what everyone thought about him already, Anders knew, even if they never spoke it aloud. The judgment was plain in those questioning glances, the concerned frowns they’d exchange when they spoke to Hawke in whispered tones. He could practically hear them now. Hawke had only been gone for a few hours, and already, look what—

“Anders?” 

He hadn’t heard Hawke come in. He lifted his gaze from the carpet and the handful of teacup fragments tucked in his palm. Hawke emerged from the shadow of the doorframe, approaching him cautiously.

“What’s the matter, love?” he asked, squinting against the dim firelight. “Maker, you’re bleeding.” 

Anders only felt the pain when Hawke mentioned it. The thin trickle of blood running from his palm now soaked his entire left hand, pooling between his fingers, staining his nailbeds. Only then he saw himself through Hawke’s eyes, how he must have looked, hunched over the floor, hair disheveled, a heap of paper strewn across the side table. 

“It’s… it’s nothing,” Anders muttered, rising up on his knees as Hawke approached. “I just dropped something, is all. I’m cleaning it up right now. Please be careful you don’t—“ Hawke stepped barefoot onto the carpet anyway.

Hawke crouched down to take stock of the mess. He looked up at Anders. “I’ll have Orana clean up the rest later. Don’t trouble yourself over something like this.” He clasped Anders’ wounded hand, beckoning him to let go. 

Anders relented, if only to escape that wavering smile and the worry in Hawke’s eyes. The remains of the teacup dropped into Hawke’s open hands. He set them carefully in a pile on top of the raised edge of the hearth, then returned to Anders’ side. “You know, I was never particularly fond of that one. Didn’t match the saucers.” 

Anders’ laugh couldn’t have sounded very convincing, as Hawke swung an arm around his shoulders and held him tight for a long time. Anders stared blankly at the blood on his hands. “You planning on doing anything about that?” Hawke asked finally.

Anders sighed. A quick brush of magic was all it took. Exerting mana to close a wound capable of healing naturally on its own struck Anders as yet another one of Hawke’s unnecessary conceits, but it was making a mess. Moreover, healing himself meant putting Hawke’s mind at ease. He wiped off the excess blood, then flashed his palm for Hawke’s inspection. “There. Happy now?”

“Reasonably,” Hawke said, ignoring the bite in Anders’ tone. He tucked his arms around Anders again, this time to haul him to his feet and guide him back towards the armchair. Anders flattened himself against the cushions when Hawke knelt between his legs, staring up at him with one of those concerned looks he’d gotten used to dealing with from everyone else, but hoped would never come from Hawke. 

“I told you not to worry about me. I’m fine now, Hawke,” he said, then tried to change the topic. “How was everyone at the Hanged Man? Did Isabela clean you out again?”

“A good night, as always. Merrill won three out of four rounds if you can believe it, but I think Isabela was letting her. Varric accused her of cheating and called her out, but it didn’t stop Merrill from walking away with an extra ten silver. Of course, he still insisted on escorting Merrill home after Isabela suggested they relocate to the Rose to spend her winnings. Anyway, Anders, I know you’re not clumsy enough to just drop a teacup and prick yourself by accident, so would you mind telling me what in Andraste’s name is happening to you?” Hawke took a deep breath and gave Anders’ thigh a sympathetic rub. “It’s Justice, isn’t it?”

Anders jerked his leg back. “No! I… I mean, yes. Not exactly. In a way,” he stammered out, momentarily blindsided by the sudden interrogation. “You still talk as if he’s some separate person living inside me, leading me around, making me do things I don’t want to do. It’s not like that, Hawke,” Anders said, then lowered his voice. “He’s not a person at all.”

“Does it matter what he is? This is about how he… it, whatever, is affecting you,” Hawke pressed. “I want to help. I’ll listen.” Hawke locked his gaze on Anders, daring him to look away. He drew close enough for Anders to smell the ale lingering on his breath. 

“No, you don’t.”

Hawke tilted his head to the side. “What was that, Anders?”

The words slipped out, and Anders regretted them, but that didn’t make them any less true. Hawke claimed to want to help him. That meant dampening Justice’s influence wherever he glimpsed it—or thought he did. Plying him with sweet words, kisses, or a new set of clothes, anything to pull Anders just a little bit further from his cause. 

“I know you think you’re trying to help, Hawke, but you’re not,” he said, then took a deep breath. “If you really cared about me, about what I’m trying to do, then you wouldn’t spend your nights out gambling with Varric and Isabela.” He wanted to sound calm and matter of fact, but his voice came out unsteady, louder than he meant it to. This really had been a long time coming. 

Just like that, the worry was gone. Hawke’s face lifted into a smile of relief. “Is that really it? Anders, you know you’re always welcome to come along. It’s not as if you’re being excluded. Varric’s always asking after you. You haven’t been around in so long that Isabela has it in her head that I’ve been keeping you tied to the bed all day, ah… hah, I had to tell her—“ 

“You’re doing it again.” 

Anders jerked away from Hawke’s touch. He knew Hawke could be dense at times. Willfully ignorant? Certainly. But Anders couldn’t take this; the empty laughs, the easy smiles, all of them pathetic attempts to deny the obvious, to distract him from the truth. The only trouble was that Anders couldn’t tell anymore if Hawke was lying to him on purpose or if he, too, had become caught in his own baseless optimism. Pushing himself from the armchair and out of Hawke’s embrace, he began gathering up the loose pages of his manifesto. The ink had to be dry by now.

Hawke sat in stunned silence until Anders had finished. He felt his gaze at his back as he made to leave.

“I’m sorry, Anders.”

Anders knew he should keep walking, hide himself away in the bedroom until Hawke was too tired to continue arguing. In the morning, he’d wake up before dawn and spend all day with his patients, and maybe by the evening, if luck held out, Hawke would go back to pretending everything was fine. Despite himself, he turned around. 

“It’s not your fault, Hawke,” he replied automatically. Only this time, it wasn’t Hawke’s fault, not even a little. “I shouldn’t have expected you to understand. This is my task, my burden, and I’ve always been prepared to carry it alone. I just thought…” He looked down at the floor. “I’d hoped that since you lived as an apostate, too, you’d want to help others like yourself! You’d want to make the Chantry see that they’re wrong about people like us! You’d help me fight so that all mages can live their lives peacefully and openly—not just you and I!”

The room fell unnaturally quiet. He heard his own voice as an echo sung from the heart of a storm. 

“Anders, you need to calm down,” Hawke said, not a plea this time, but a warning. He took a stand in front of Anders, reflected blue light dancing across his features. 

“How dare you interfere!” Anders heard himself roar. “You are a degenerate excuse for a mage! Content to drink and gamble, your wasted gifts used solely in pursuit of your own fortune and personal elevation. How dare you sit, comfortable in your fortress of fame and security, while others of our kind waste away in the Circles -- save for the few you deem worthy to participate in your decadence.” His own thoughts lost in Justice’s fury, Anders took a step forward, fists tight around the pages of his manifesto. Hawke stood his ground. “I will not endure such indignity. How long did you think you could keep me here, lulled and complacent, chained to your riches, trifles... your pointless crusades?”

He was almost upon him now. Mana seeped through his skin, magical energy crackling all around them. “Tell me, Hawke, how this is any better than life in the Circle!?”

Hawke pushed back with a charge of his own, strong enough to loosen Anders’ grip on his crumpled manifesto, which sent papers flying into the air. Justice lapsed, dazzled for a brief moment, as the pages swirled along their magical current before drifting to the floor. Several fluttered too close to the fireplace for Anders’ comfort, but Hawke seized him by the arm before he could recover them.

His voice curiously gentle, Hawke said, “Listen to me. This isn’t you. Who am I speaking to right now?”

Still distracted by the lost pages sitting at the edge of the hearth, Anders muttered to himself, “It’s me, Hawke, it’s always been me.” The light of Justice’s mana flickered and and extinguished, leaving Anders to sink into Hawke’s arms. 

“What are you talking about? Don’t tell me you really believe all those things he... er, you said. Really, Anders, I may be a degenerate excuse for a mage, but here I thought that was something you appreciated about me.” 

Anders sighed, partly from mana-exhaustion, partly from exasperation. Clearly that hadn’t been the answer Hawke was expecting, but it was far past time he began to adjust those expectations. “I do appreciate you, truly, just the way you are. It’s only that sometimes I have doubts. Not about you, but about _us_. About whether we can ever understand each other. And with Justice involved, chasms can form out of the smallest cracks.” Anders clasped Hawke’s forearms and stood up to his full height. “He can turn a minor misgiving into an obsession. Until it becomes impossible to tell the difference.”

He shook his head, errant strands escaping from his ponytail. “Does that help at all? I know you don’t understand what it’s like, living with a spirit inside of you, and I pray to the Maker you’ll never have to. But maybe someday, if I could ever explain it to you properly…“ Anders’ voice broke with bitter laughter, ”it might be easier to love me.”

Without a word, Hawke’s arms linked behind Anders’ back, holding him tight. Hawke’s chin came to rest in the crook of his shoulder. “Now there’s a frightening prospect,” he said, “if you were any easier to love, I wouldn’t let you get anything done. And I don’t think Justice would approve of that.” Anders could feel his smile against the skin of his throat, and he couldn’t help but smile in return. 

Hawke held him like that for a long while in the fading light of the fireplace. When he let go, he crouched down and began to gather some of the scattered pages of Anders’ manifesto. Anders helped, too—the accident wasn’t solely Hawke’s doing, after all. He carefully rescued the pages closest to the embers, miraculously unharmed. “I’m sure you can arrange them in the proper order later?” Hawke asked, presenting him with the rest. “If there are any missing, you have full permission to blame me and tear the place apart.”

Anders stood up, brushing dust and ashes off his silk garments. “I-I’m sure it’ll be fine. No harm done.” This time, at least, he neglected to add. 

He felt a tug at the bottom of his tunic. “You missed a spot,” Hawke said as he rubbed his thumb over the smudge, not so subtly palming Anders’ thigh in the process. There was no mistaking the suggestion, and Anders certainly didn’t mind. He pressed his body close to Hawke’s so their hips could meet, so Hawke could see the want in his eyes. A measure of lucidity came with Justice’s exhaustion, one that Anders recognized and took advantage of whenever possible. These desires, perhaps, were the only ones he could be sure were entirely his own.

“It’s getting late, love,” Hawke said. “Would you like to come to bed with me?”

Anders hoped that the way he took took Hawke’s arm and led the way up the stairs to Hawke’s—no, their room, would be all the answer he required. Eager to banish the memory of the last few hours, he kissed Hawke against the banisters, fingers twined in his hair. Hawke returned his affections with equal enthusiasm, nearly losing his balance on the top few steps with both arms locked around Anders’ waist. Before they’d shut the door behind them, he’d managed to unbutton Hawke’s shirt and left it discarded on the landing. Pressing him to the bedroom wall now, Anders crushed his lips against Hawke’s and slipped two fingers under his belt... until Hawke stopped him. 

Anders pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

Hawke leaned in closer until he could kiss the bare flesh of Anders’ throat. “Nothing, love. I thought we could slow this down a bit. I’d been looking forward to seeing you all day,” he said, voice a low growl. “I want to savour this.” Still attached to Hawke’s belt, Anders arched his back, playfully escaping from his grasp. 

“Something more like this?” he whispered, grinding their hips together, pleased to find his lover already half-hard.

Hawke sagged against the wall. He sighed happily. “Mn, that’s perfect, Anders, just perfect. Don’t stop.” Unable to resist, he reached for Anders again, this time catching him by the waist. He massaged his sides through his clothes, lifting the fabric to reveal flesh just as soft. 

Slightly ticklish, Anders let out a giggle. “A little preoccupied, are we?” Once he got his hands on him, Hawke would, more often than not, end up fondling his hips, sides, and belly—not that Anders minded. 

“Ah...ha, yes. I was wondering when you’d notice,” Hawke chuckled back. A flush came to his cheeks, whether it was arousal or embarrassment Anders couldn’t tell. “I like the way you’re filling out, is all,” he admitted, hands wandering the small but pronounced curve of his belly, too passionate for a purely emphatic gesture. “I used to worry about you sometimes, you know, when we met. You looked like you barely got enough to eat, all skin and bone—mn, let me look at you...” He tugged Anders’ tunic up to his chest, prompting Anders to do away with it entirely. “I promised myself that when I finally managed to seduce you, I’d make sure to keep you well fed and healthy.” Hawke tucked his hands under Anders’ arms, where his ribs used to protrude. 

Anders grinned. “Are you sure you’re not forgetting who did most of the seducing?” he asked, working his way into Hawke’s arms again, certain he would appreciate how much more of him there was to hold.

“True enough,” Hawke admitted. “But that doesn’t change that I never want to see you in that state again, chained to your clinic, never taking time for yourself.” Hawke clenched his hands just above Anders’ hips, appreciating hearty flesh where once there was only skin and bone. “While you’re here, and however long you choose to stay? Let me take care of you, be good to you, and let me make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

Though he wasn’t sure how to take the sentiment, Anders liked the growl in Hawke’s voice when he talked about his body and the charge in his caress as he inched his pants down over his hips—irresistible. “Is that right? By dressing me up like a lord and fixing me extra dessert? Hawke, if you wanted people to know I’m yours, I could just get a tattoo of your name or something?” He let out a sigh as his pants sunk around his ankles, leaving him entirely bare. “Would you like that?” At this point, he was not entirely joking. 

Hawke gave Anders’ ass a polite slap. “Only if you put it right here.”

The quality of conversation was fast deteriorating into quips, laughs, and little gasps of pleasure. Anders took Hawke by the arms again and guided him toward the bed. He was more than ready now. Taking a seat at the edge of the sheets, Anders leaned back on his arms and spread his legs in invitation. Hawke could do whatever he wanted to him, he didn’t care anymore; the only thing that mattered was that in these sweet, sensual hours, Justice left them in privacy. 

Hawke didn’t strip down any further. With a strange look in his eye, he knelt between Anders’ outstretched legs and stroked his soft thighs. “Lay back, love,” he beckoned, and when Anders fell back against the quilt, he felt the brush of Hawke’s stubble over his shaft before he engulfed his cock. Starved for contact all day, Anders’ knees bent involuntarily to wrap around Hawke’s shoulders. To keep his hips from bucking, he twined his fingers in the blankets, soft moans falling from his lips. 

Hawke licked him from base to tip, swirled his tongue around the head. Anders’ breath caught in his throat when Hawke’s hands fastened to his sides to drag him closer, almost pulling him off the bed altogether were it not for Anders’ thighs perched over his shoulders. Anders closed his eyes, let his teeth rake against his bottom lip. He felt his skin flush, sensitive to every fleeting touch, kiss, the slide of his body over the sheets. Hawke hadn’t been at him very long, but already his cock twitched with need. Hawke had clearly noticed. He dabbed his tongue over the slit. 

He blew a stream of air past his slick erection. “Anders?”

“Y-yes?” he barely managed, hips grinding against the bed. 

“You said something before, that you and Justice are the same, right?” 

Anders had no earthly idea why Hawke would choose to bring this up now of all times, when he was almost there, so painfully close. He made a noise of affirmation accompanied by an emphatic buck. “Please, Hawke. Not now? You wouldn’t do this do me, would you?”

To let Anders know he wouldn’t go neglected, Hawke palmed his cock again, tugging every so often. “I just had a thought, is all. If you and Justice are the same, then... doesn’t that mean when I talk to you, I’m talking to him at the same time?”

With his eyes squeezed shut and a hand clamped over his mouth to keep from crying out in frustration, Anders nodded vigorously and eked out a muffled, “Yes, I mean... that would follow.”

“Good. Because I’m addressing both of you,” Hawke said cheerfully. 

“Both of us?” Anders repeated, glancing down at his erection. “I... I’m not sure Justice would appreciate that at the—ah!” Hawke’s lips were around his cock again, keeping his erection from flagging throughout. 

Hawke raised his head, licking his lips. “I know this isn’t the proper time, but if I don’t tell you now, I’m sure we’ll both end up forgetting about it come morning. Or we’ll try to, at least, until this happens again. These things don’t come easy for me, I’m afraid. So you’ll just have to put up with it, and listen as best you can.”

Easier said than done, Anders thought, when Hawke climbed up onto the bed with him. Poised on his knees, shirtless, face shaded in the lamplight as he fussed with his belt buckle, Hawke himself stole nearly all of his attention. “Before, you mentioned sometimes having doubts about us, and about what I want from you. I’d like to try to assuage those doubts, if you’ll let me?” 

Anders rolled onto his side, ostensibly to listen, but also to get a better view. Eyes fixed on his body, he watched Hawke inch down his trousers and undergarments. His lover’s cock was flushed, half-hard, and Anders desired nothing more than to help him the rest of the way. “I can’t say that you’re wrong to have these doubts about me, Anders, and my commitment to your beliefs. I haven’t exactly been the most supportive partner lately,” Hawke said, then laid down next to him.

“No, Hawke, that’s not, I didn’t mean to suggest that...“ Anders protested. He threw his arms around Hawke, burying his face in his shoulder, kissing his neck. “I was angry, all right?”

Hawke placed a thumb delicately over Anders’ lips, silencing him. “Hush, love. Just listen.” Hawke leaned closer to nibble at his earlobe. “I’ve always admired you, Anders, and your dedication to your cause is a part of that. When we first met, I vowed to help you in any way I could. A pair of renegade apostates fighting for justice? Sounded like fun to me.” 

Before Anders could respond, Hawke took hold of his cock again and pressed it against his own. He shuddered as Hawke sent a frission of mana through both of them—a trick Anders had taught him. 

“What I hadn’t realized at the time was that... we’re not the same. Even if both of us would like to believe that.” Desperation leaked into Hawke’s voice now, and Anders could feel him thrust lightly into the soft flesh of his thigh. “I’m not like you, Anders. We both may be apostates in name, but I’ve never felt the sting of the word the way you have. I was never taken by a Circle, never stolen from my parents, pursued by Templars, all that. I was one of the lucky ones—” His breath caught in his throat as Anders squeezed his thighs together around his length. “Our family had to move around a lot. We had to stick to small villages to keep my father, Bethany, and I out of the Chantry’s reach, but what’s important is that we were _free_.” 

Anders dipped his head low to kiss the hollow between Hawke’s collarbones. “The fact that you were forced to keep your talents hidden is an injustice all of its own. So you had a different experience than other mages? That doesn’t mean you have nothing to give.”

“That’s just it, love.” Hawke sighed and granted a return kiss to Anders’ brow. He ruffled Anders’ hair, then removed himself from his clutches and crawled towards the pillows. Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, he said, “I know what I have to offer, and that’s _you_.”

When Hawke looked back, there was a playful grin on his face. Anders didn’t know what to make of it until Hawke opened up a drawer in the nightstand to retrieve a jar of scented oil. “You have something that I don’t, Anders. Drive, sincerity, and a passion I could never hope to match. To other people, it might look like you’re hitching your cart to my horse, but I’ve always thought it was the other way around.” Hawke leaned back on his hands to return Anders’ puzzled expression. “I may have gathered something of a reputation in Kirkwall, but if anyone is going to change the world? It’ll be you.”

Though the words were laced with smiles and gestures, Anders could tell that Hawke was entirely serious. He moved to join him when Hawke patted the bedsheets. “I… I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it that way before,” he said, though words felt inadequate. 

“That’s why I go out some evenings. I know how important your work is to you, and I’d hate to be a distraction.” 

There it was. Anders didn’t think he’d ever said it in Hawke’s presence, but he couldn’t help but wonder how Hawke’s thoughts echoed his own so precisely. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned. 

Hawke leaned over to rest his head on Anders’ shoulder. “The way I see it, the most I can offer your— _our_ cause, is to make sure you have the time and resources to devote yourself to it. By leaving you time in the evenings to write, funding our expeditions, and... well, maybe spoiling you now and again.” He gave Anders’ little belly an affectionate rub. “I always want you to be happy, so you never lose hope.” Hawke’s stubbly chin nuzzled against Anders’ throat. “Just imagine it, love. If every mage in Kirkwall could be just as happy as we are.”

Despite all that they’d been through, despite the ever worsening struggle, despite Justice’s warnings, Anders allowed himself to imagine it—just this once. An involuntary smile tugged at Anders’ cheeks. He let himself indulge in the smooth sheets, his expensive robe, the gorgeous man curled next to him, all of the trappings of the fantasy life Hawke had built for them, and for the first time, he let himself imagine it could last.

“I want that, Hawke. I want that more than anything, but…”

“Shhh…” Hawke touched Anders’ lips again. “None of that.” he said, and Anders felt Hawke’s cheek on his. “Even if you can’t bring yourself to believe it could happen, then let me. Just for tonight. Maybe I can do enough believing for both of us.” Then he wrapped his arms around Anders’ waist and pulled him into an embrace.


End file.
